


After 01x05 (The Bank Shot Job)

by PseudoLeigha



Series: (More) 2AM Conversations [5]
Category: Leverage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot and Nate discuss Nate getting shot. Nate's drugged. In hospital. One of the few of these that qualifies as humor, I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After 01x05 (The Bank Shot Job)

Nate came to consciousness slowly, first recognizing a steady beeping sound. When he prized open his eyes, he was disoriented by curtains until he realized he was in a hospital bed.

The details of the afternoon’s adventures seeped into his thoroughly medicated consciousness as he realized Eliot was sleeping in the guest chair. They had gotten him out… and the ambulance driver was the kidnapped mother… yeah. And then he clearly remembered saying they had to get the money to the Delgado family, and Eliot was being a paramedic, and after that things kind of went blurry.

There was a cup of water on his bedside table. Before he could get his hand halfway to it, the hitter was there, holding it gently to his lips.

“Did you get the money to the Delgados?” he tried to ask, lips and tongue slow to respond, like being ten shots in, but without the alcohol. It came out more like ‘D’get m’ny?”

“Yeah, Parker and Hardison got it to Mr. Delgado.”

“Y’er sleep,” he slurred. Not being able to talk was infuriating. What the hell kind of drugs did they give him, he wondered.

“Just restin’ my eyes. Sophie went back to the hotel to fill the others in when you got out of surgery. ‘M here as your brother. They’ll all be here in the morning. And the anesthetic should be totally worn off by then. Go back to sleep.”

“Sur’ry?”

“Bullet went straight through and missed the artery, but hit the scapula and there were bone fragments an’ fibers in the wound. Plus you were lyin’ on that bank floor for a while. Surgeon went in an’ cleaned it out right, save ya the risk of infection.”

“S’like th’think I ne’r bin sho’ b’for.” Nate’s voice sounded petulant even to himself.

Eliot chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re much more badass than I thought. But Sophie was worried, and Carl Owens isn’t wanted for anything other than bein’ a hero, so here we are.”

“’Ro?”

“You, ah, might have to deal with a local news crew in the mornin’.”

Nate scowled, or at least he thought he did. It was hard to say when he felt this numb all over. The last thing he needed was getting interviewed by some local news anchor in a hospital bed.

Eliot changed the subject. “Saw your scar in the ambulance. Who winged ya the first time?”

“Soph.”

“Sophie? She’s at the hotel, remember? Or do you mean you want her to deal with the news crews?”

“N’,” he grunted, ever more irritated with his inability to speak, though making her deal with any reporters might not be a bad idea. “S’shot me. Oh one. Par’s.”

“Wait – Sophie? Our Sophie?” Eliot was laughing. “She shot you in Paris?”

“Sh’up,” Nate tried to growl. “Got’r back.”

Eliot was still highly amused. “Wow, man. Exchanging gunshots in Paris. Romantic, man. Well done.”

“G’n t’sleep now,” Nate muttered, trying to roll over so he didn’t have to see the younger man. The movement stopped at his head, his limbs and torso far too heavy (and painful) to move at the moment.

“Yeah, man. You do that.” Nate could hear him smirking. Maybe he’d make Eliot deal with the reporters. Yeah, that seemed fair…


End file.
